


Atonement

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [52]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Hermione Granger, F/F, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24590296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Hermione finds atonement between Bellatrix's thighs.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: One-Shot [52]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429282
Comments: 1
Kudos: 85





	Atonement

**Author's Note:**

> sprint work i threw into a one shot. unedited

Hermione fell forward within her mind and body until the last portion of her given soul was nothing more than a small pinprick of light against the darkness. 

The ritual held.

The woman at her side wasn’t going to help her through this task, wasn’t allowed to give her a way out. 

It ended.

The labyrinth was deep and dark around her, and while she wished for something different she knew she deserved nothing less. The acceptance of the change would be easier than defiance. Bellatrix had won, beat her down into submission and made her realize just what she had been serving. It burned Hermione to admit that she had lost the battle, to admit that there was an error in her prior judgment that let this wound fester into anger and black hate.

She needed to accept that as reality.

Bellatrix had been right all along. The Order wanted nothing to do with her, had wanted nothing more than to forget she had ever existed. She was a stepping stool towards better and brighter things, an item to be cast away as soon as she became unwieldy. Now there was nothing more of that link beside the burning scars along her chest and arms, a mark to never fade or heal.

Bellatrix would keep her safe now, now that the ritual had held.

She rolled further into the darkness of the witch, grasped at the frills of her skirts and pulled herself closer to the source of her desire. Lips dragged along a stretch of pale neck that was calling to her with the heat of blood beneath the skin. Hermione could smell the subtle hints of cinnamon and pine, a burning forest carpeting them both in a layer of blackened ashes.

The Mark had called to them both and given Hermione a new purpose.

With a gasp that shuddered its way from her chest, Hermione pushed herself upwards and away from the bed before shakily standing on feet that barely held a sense of balance. There was nothing for her to do except get on with it and Bellatrix’s expansive smirk seemed proof enough of that. Hermione knew what she wanted, knew she wouldn’t let the witch down, knew in turn that the witch would never let it happen again.

Once was enough. Too much death and one was wont to die for good.

Hermione drew the dagger from its sheath -  _ so pretty and shiny in the morning light, blood still drying along the edges _ \- and pressed the naked blade against her thigh. She locked eyes with the dark witch, felt a mind not like her own invade her head and play with all the thoughts therein. Her worries calmed.

One second.

Two.

Hermione slashed the length of her skin and muscle, let all the blood pour out onto the floor as she cringed away from the sight of the blade slipping through flesh. Cursed and tinged with magics darker still, Hermione cried out against the sudden outpouring of pain and terror that threatened to overflow her wicked mind. 

But Bellatrix was there, inside her, comfort and decision and a darkened tinge of purpose extending to support and hold her safe.

The blade was strong enough to do what Bellatrix wanted. Now so too was Hermione.

Acquiescence.

The sting was pure and light and fading into a burning that was just as lovely as anything else in their tortuous version of a relationship. It would become a new piece to the mural that patterned her body, another scar for Hermione to spark into light whenever she wanted something worth seeing. The candles upon their walls shivered in delight, the shadows dancing as a wind kicked up from nowhere in particular. She dropped the dagger as if burned, let the hollow sound of metal on stone echo around them until her ears had quieted and all was well except the pitter-patter of blood falling to the ground.

All would be alright.

“What’s next,” she asked, her voice a sultry whisper in the softness of the room.

_ Nothing. _

_ Everything. _

Bellatrix simply continued to stare at her for some length of time before reaching out a crooked finger and begging Hermione forward without a single word.

Hermione moved. Of course she did. What else could she do? Bound and slaved to the witch’s soul, there was no other choice but fall into her chosen role. She pushed herself forward and back into the cradle of a bed, pulling her ruined thigh atop the pile of sheets and duvet while placing a knee below her chin to hide the thin stream of tears that leaked off down her face and neck.

It didn’t hurt her, not really, not nearly so much as her original mistake.  _ Trusting _ those who were meant to protect and uplift her was something that hurt far worse than this. 

Bellatrix would hurt, but she was honest about it and Hermione put more stock in honesty and sharp words than gentle lies uttered with a kind and aged smile.

“Quiet, quiet now Pet. No worries, no fears, you’ve atoned.” The sound of Bellatrix’s words were buttressed against Hermione’s ears, soft puffs of breath all warm and shallow. “We’ll make them pay one day, no worries about that. He’ll get what he deserves and you’ll be there to watch him burn.”

The arms around her tightened further, possessive and strong and grounding in a way that Hermione had never known she needed until  _ this  _ moment. A whispered word of healing was all it took to heal the massive wound, her blood replenishing and the paleness of her skin returning to the more natural -  _ if still pale _ \- colour that darkness had left it. It would be a scar now, one that would be there forevermore. It was burned into her soul, all of them were forever and forever she would seek to atone for them. Make  _ others _ atone for them. Make others feel  _ pain _ for them, for having made her fall into such depths that nothing except blood and vengeance had been left to her. The blanket of remaining pain -  _ lingering from the magic and not the act _ \- was something that she could wrap herself in, keep warm and safe with burning hatred.

Bellatrix loved it. Hermione needed it.  _ They _ would learn to fear it.

But focusing on it meant nothing except a ring of thoughts that led backwards towards annoyance and hate. Her temper was growing thin. The mistake that she had made, the fact that  _ she _ had nearly died in their trap, all of it was her own fault and Bellatrix knew it. Now that Hermione had been marked, now that the ritual was complete,  _ she _ would never forget what had led her here.

Bellatrix knew best, Bellatrix knew right, Bellatrix had the plan.

Hermione could no longer endure a deviation from the plan and she knew that Bellatrix had wanted that. It wasn’t to be allowed, couldn’t happen, shouldn’t happen if she wanted to do anything more than sleep in a coffin before the year was out. There was so much for her to accomplish! So many places to be and so many things to destroy, to rip apart, to tear down until something new and shiny could be erected in its place. The Ministry would be first to fall, it had to be,  _ needed _ to be. There was nowhere for them to start except there, it would fall and then the remainder of their world would be dragged out by the hands and feet no matter how much it wanted to kick and hide away back under its regressive little rock.

The end of the War brought stagnation and separation, a stuttering halt that Hermione would not stand. Now there would only be one way forward from all of them, only Bellatrix at the helm and Hermione at her side. They would shock the world from the stupor it had fallen into, force them all to grow past this inept permeance and stride forward into a new age.

Dark ladies, dark dreams, dark ideals and shining plans that were slick with a coating of blood and ichor. 

But she had lost the first battle due to her incompetence and reliance on those best left behind, her own naivety leaving her alone and shown up by her new mistress. She had fallen from that grace but Bellatrix had held her aloft in the aftermath, their little ritual compressing and aligning their needs and goals. Servitude and pain were owed to her. Hermione could  _ thank _ her for those things.

She should.

She did.

Hermione turned into the woman’s chest with lips against soft skin and teeth that bit into flesh with a strength and need that Bellatrix immediately responded to. There was nothing more for Hermione to do except make up for this mistake, please her Mistress and show just how contrite the ordeal had made her.

She was certain she could accomplish that with aplomb and splendour.

Hands held tightly to Bellatrix’s shoulders, pulling at the fabric of her shirt until it was off and the body that Hermione craved so fully was bare and presented to her roving gaze. She left a trail of sharpened bites that mixed with tender kisses, rolling across skin and bone and muscle that she knew was honed with honest work and destruction. The hardened bud of a nipple fell to her wrapping lips, teeth edging and drawing forth a moan that left a slickness between Hermione’s thighs and blood pumping in a rush against her ears. 

Her tongue peeked out to lave against flesh, rhythmic and taunting and leading the woman beneath her further into a heady cry of desire. A hand moved south to massage at flesh and sculpted muscle that Hermione had prayed to one more than one occasion, her sharpened nails leavened red trails and marks that she would be sure to trace with lips and tongue when all was said and done. 

Hermione pulled at the sleepwear her Mistress still wore, a thin and sheer fabric that was nothing much more than an impediment to Hermione’s interests. It was pulled down, torn and broken, dropped off of the side of the bed and onto the floor to be forgotten. She would pay for ruining the item but that would be later when they were finished, right now she had Bellatrix exactly where she wanted her and nothing could stop the motion of her body.

She leaned down, pushed Bellatrix back into the softness of the mattress while crawling lower along the woman. Her mouth left that succulent spot atop Bellatrix’s chest and wound a trail through the valley of her breasts and dip of her chest, belly and navel slick with her tongue as she moved towards the curving and sharpened form of the woman’s pelvis. The edges of bone stood clear beneath the skin, natural handholds that Hermione leveraged as soon as she was in a position to do so, her own arms snaking beneath thighs and around until Bellatrix could not move without dragging Hermione with her.

Hermione became single-minded in her approach to the situation, her hands holding Bellatrix as still as she could while her tongue began to play with the hardened flesh of Bellatrix’s clit. One lick, two, twisting her tongue over itself and pressing back in frantic movements and shapes that Hermione knew would drive Bellatrix into sweetened oblivion only punctuated by sharp and random bites.

The woman screamed her name and Hermione felt that warmth and wetness between her legs increase tenfold.

Eventually the sounds spilling forth from her lover’s throat were deep and steady in tone and utterance. Hermione knew to finish it, to savour the moment and let them both go. The sweetness that flowed from between Bellatrix’s legs was made to be tasted and she threw herself into the final lap. A finger slid forwards with practised ease to curl and tug at the softer pad of flesh within her, a thumb supplementing her tongue until the motion reached a fever-pitch. 

Bellatrix spread her fingers atop Hermione’s head, nails biting down into her scalp and pushing her, trapping her, keeping her in place as the witch rid her to completion.

The dance finished with panting lungs and breathless proclamations of desire and acceptance. It was a pledge between them, a reason to continue on, an acknowledgement that they were  _ one. _

Bellatrix relaxed, released, pulled Hermione forward atop her body as both women fell into a sleep they wished would never end.


End file.
